Regnum
by Flipping Seltzer
Summary: A prequel to Memoria. Six years after the end of season 3, Arthur is about to become king but is missing a very important element...Merlin. A crowning and reveal story all in one!
1. Chapter 1

Regnum

AN: Hi all! So this is a prequel to my story Memoria, although you in no way need to read that first. It may be a little helpful (so you're not seeing my AU characters and go 'who the hell is that? This is dumb.') It happens I know but really, I try and make my OC's pretty believable. If I ever stray into Mary Sue territory you are all more than happy to send me 'you're dumb' reviews. This is set six years after the end of season 3. Arthur is in Camelot and Merlin is on the run with the druids and Freya. This is going to be a story about Merlin coming back to Camelot and Arthur allowing magic in the kingdom. There will be an evil character to fight and I will also have flashbacks to how Arthur and Uther found out about Merlin's magic and the fallout from that.

An explanation on Freya being alive: First, she will not live long, as you can see if you read this. I'm using her to create an OC and as an angst device. It will be explained in a flashback but since I know I'm going to get reviews on it so I'm going to go over it now. Freya is not a ghost or some sort of fish person—she is alive and normal. Merlin made a sacrifice (not a human one) to the gods of the old religion and created a deal so that Freya could come back to life for one year. They got freaky, she got pregnant and held on just long enough to give birth. A little fanciful? Perhaps, but this is a tv series about magic so cut me a break on this one. I really loved Freya's character and wanted to include her, especially since I referenced her in Memoria.

Warnings: I will swear. People do it so I'm writing it, not to explicit though. If I put the F-word in I will put a warning at the top of the chapter. A little romance here and there but I'm useless at writing dirty scenes so don't expect much. Gore will happen.

I disclaim. I don't own anything expect for Iana and James.

Also, looking for a beta for this story…Wow that was long. Sorry about that, won't happen again.

Prologue

Camelot Castle, six years after Morgana's coup d'état

The castle was almost silent. Almost, except for the eerie echoes of footfalls slapped against the walls, as a lone messenger raced through the corridors. Every so often, a servant would peek out door, their drawn and grave faces lining the way to the manservant's destination. The young man in question was thin and wiry, his long legs causing him to stumble as he traveled to the crown prince's chamber. "Let me in! Let me enter!" He shouted to the sentry on guard, who bared entrance to Arthur Pendragon's room.

"The prince is in meditation boy, move along."

"The prince will see me!" The servant gasped, glaring at the guard as he raised a hand. Dangling from his fingers was the ring of the Pendragon family, taken from the kings own finger. "Open the doors."

Paling at the sight of the gold, the larger man pushed open the doors, announcing the messenger with a "sire."

Arthur remained where he was, seated at his breakfast table, hands clenched between his knees, head lowered. A low fire illuminated the room and the prince, who was dressed in black, face blank and hard. He looked up and his visage paled as he gestured for the servant to come to him. The boy did so, keeping to a half bow the whole way before dropping to his knees in front of the royal's chair. He dared a glance up into his master's face only to look away as an angry scar, marring the king's cheek, flashed in the firelight, causing the 28 year old man to look frightening to the bearer of bad news. He lifted the ring for Arthur's inspection. "My lord, the king… the king is dead. Long live the king."

From the corner of the room a small group, including Lancelot and Gwen stood from their small circle of chairs. "Long live the king!" They spoke together, their eyes burning with tears and something else, a sort of hope. The blonde prince took the ring carefully, as if it could burn him, holding it up to the dancing light. He examined it, and then slipped it on, a prince now in name only.

Standing, he shooed the servant out of his way, striding for the council room. "Lancelot! Leon! With me." The two knights in question, the latter now haggard with age, followed him quietly, not speaking as their own footsteps now livened the quiet stone. The physician met him outside the double doors to the large room. "When did it happen?" Arthur spoke softly.

Matching his tone, the medicine man answered, his own blonde head bowed in deference. "Just a few moments ago my lord— I mean your highness. It was peaceful."

"And it's certain?"

"Yes sire. The king is dead. Long live the king." With that the physician backed away, waiting for Arthur to open the council doors. He did so with reluctance, greeted by the shouts of "Long live the king!"

It was many hours and meetings later that Arthur, king of Camelot, stood beside a grave outside the city walls. He had no guard, save for Lancelot and Percival. The three bent their heads in acknowledgement as Arthur muttered a few words over the plot. They each threw a handful of dirt on the grave, which was at least three years old, and showing the signs of age. "It's time Gaius. It's time for him to come home." He turned away and motioned for Percival to walk beside him. The big knight fell into line, Lancelot behind them. "You know where he is?"

"Yes sire." Percival nodded in the darkness. "It's a three day journey to…well, to where I'm going."

"Leave now then; as soon as you can saddle the horse." The man peeled away and Lancelot fell into step beside his king. "I'll need you to deal with the nobles until this is sorted out. Keep them busy, keep them quiet, but most of all keep them away from me. I'll talk to Gwen, she'll do what she can. James is always a good distraction; he should at least keep the visiting ladies busy."

The dark haired knight nodded. "Where will you be?"

Arthur smiled grimly. "I'll be getting ready. It's time for a few things to change."

The Shores of Avalon, three days ride from Camelot, the same time

"Be calm Emry's, balance in all things. The earth will look after its children and guide them safely into the light." The druid's placid voice grated on Merlin's nerves. The danger in what Freya was attempting was worrying enough, but he also worried over the small gift she was bringing into the world. His world.

He shot an unhappy glance at Pallin, one of the elders that had volunteered to sit with him during the birth. The warlock would have felt better if he could have assisted; he'd certainly watched Gaius perform enough emergency births to be familiar with any problems that might come up. But the witches and druid women who were supervising had been equal parts offended and outraged at his presumption. "I'd rather look after my child myself priest." He snapped. A cry split the air and he jumped, whirling towards the tent flap.

A woman dressed in dark red robes emerged. "It's time." Her voice was solemn but a small smile told him that at least one thing had gone well tonight. The child was still crying, its loud wails cutting through the silence of the shores.

For a moment Merlin stopped, midstride and turned his face to the sudden gale of wind that brushed his robes and face. Titling his head he listened to the rustling trees then muttered, "Yes. It is time." A moment later he resumed his path into the tent. Freya was there, her dark hair and kind face tired and damp with sweat. "Freya!" Merlin moved to her quickly, the joy on his face making it years younger.

A limp fingertip trailed the side of his face. "Merlin." She took a deep breath and tried to smile, using the same finger to gesture in the air between them. "It's like…the first time…again. Me…dying and you wor…worrying." He grabbed her hands and held them tightly, kissing the knuckles and trying to hold back tears. "None of that." Freya scolded, even as a drop escaped her own eyes.

"It's not enough time." Merlin muttered, stroking her forehead with his free hand.

The druid woman smiled at him, even as she grew weaker. "More than… I hoped for. Perfect." She tried to turn her head toward the priestesses that were standing respectfully at the flap of the tent. She couldn't quite make it and Merlin helped her, using his arms to prop her up. "My baby. I want to… see him."

One of the red robed women disappeared into the night and returned a moment later with the child. "Here my lady. But I am afraid, it is not a boy." She pulled down the blanket to reveal a little pink face, wrinkly and soft. "It is a girl child." She placed the babe into its mothers arms, glancing at Merlin, her eyes telling him to support the child as well. Its mother was too weak with death. "She has the strength of magic in her. I hope you are pleased."

"A girl." Merlin muttered, brushing the soft dark hair on the baby's head gently.

Freya stared down at the small person, tears now freely pouring down her face and splashing the baby. "I am…so pleased. Merlin?"

Her lover grinned at her. "Very pleased. What shall we name her? Freya!" His voice became frantic, her eyes were starting to slide shut.

She was startled back to awareness by his shout. "Oh I don't think…Freya would…work. Too…depressing. She should… have a happy name."

Merlin thought for a moment. "What about Iana?"

"Iana…what does it…mean?"

The warlock tried to keep from crying as her eyes slid shut again. "Joyful light. In the old tongue." He whispered in her ear.

Freya's lips quirked up. "A good… name. Iana then." Her breath was coming in little puffs now. Merlin looked helplessly at the other druids as she started to become dead weight. One of the rushed over to take the child and quickly left the room with the babe. "I don't…regret…this." Her eyes opened a slit, her dark eyes meeting his blue. "I love… you Mer- merlin."

"I love you. Freya please! I love you too!" But could only be cheated for so long and it took back the woman it had granted a year's favor. Not even a warlock, not even Emry's could stop death. She smiled and her eyes closed and then even her slight puffs, strangely reassuring on Merlin's skin, stopped. The young man had not cried in years, not since he rode away from his home, but the hot, rolling sobs escaped him almost without warning. The crying started up again but the father didn't even raise his head. The sorceresses left the tent silently, sending pitying looks at the famed magician.

A day later, it was Merlin himself who carried the wrapped body to the water's edge. The camp of druids lined the shore, Iana small and quiet in a wet nurses arm. A boat rose to the surface as the two neared the water and Merlin laid his love carefully in the wood and then pushed it out, towards the comforting mist that shielded the magical island. Priests and priestesses of the old religion knelt and threw blooming flowers into the water, the purple and blue petals following slowly in the wake of the boat. Halfway, just as the mists were lapping the sides, its journey ended and the small wooden vessel began to sink, slowly returning the lady of the lake to her watery grave. Merlin stood there, calf deep in water, watching until the water was still again. The wet nurse approached him, and he took the small child, gracing it with his first smile of his new life alone. "Perhaps," he mused quietly, "it will not be quite so lonely with you around little one." The party began to move away, the camp beginning its daily chores and life now that the ceremony was done.

Suddenly the sounds of thundering footsteps reached their ears. Children and non-fighters darted for the woods, grabbing essentials as they went. Uther had been particularly vicious since Merlin had fled the castle. A priest near Merlin sent out a burst of magic, muttering under his breath. A moment later he opened his eyes, looking relieved. "A single rider my lord. Moving quickly."

Merlin handed the child to the surprised man and jogged forward to the beginning of the clearing to meet the rider. He raised his hand, ready to protect the camp if necessary. Only to drop it, and his jaw, when he saw the man. "Gwaine?"

Gwaine, dressed in his usual leather and cotton, dismounted quickly and pulled the smaller man into a hug. "I came as soon as I heard. You moron why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't really thinking about you the past few days, you egomaniac." He pushed the knight off him. He smiled slightly. "But I do appreciate your coming. You didn't have to scare half the camp though." Faces were peeking out from the trees and the druids were emerging, becoming bolder as they saw their leader's old friend. Gwaine had stayed with the camp for a year or so before realizing that the passive life was most definitely not for him.

"Sorry." The handsome man shrugged and pushed his hair away from his forehead, grinning at a few of the ladies that were moving back into the camp and eyeing him curiously. "But I was a little distracted myself." His face became serious and he pulled Merlin a little farther away, pulling a small roll of parchment from his boot. "Read it." He gave the roll to Merlin then explained it anyway. "It came by falcon a day ago—I left as soon as I read it. Percival, that clever giant, sent it ahead of himself." Merlin's eyes jumped up, locking on Gwaine's. "Thought it might be easier for you to believe if I met him here. Uther is dead. Arthur is to be crowned on the day of the full moon in a week's time. He_ requests_ our presence. Which means that the princess is ordering us to come along."

Merlin was barely listening. "Uther is dead?" His mind was racing with possibilities.

"Merlin! Merlin listen to me! Percival will make us go to Camelot—he is loyal to Arthur above all things. If you don't want to go we need to run. Now. He'll be here in a days time. Can the camp pack up that quickly."

The warlock smiled. "Yes. And they will, as soon as I give them word. But I'm not leaving." He sent Gwaine a warning look. "And neither are you. We're going back to Camelot. Back home."

Gwaine stared incredulously. "Are you out of your idled mind! The last time we were in the god forsaken city you were almost burnt to death, then stoned to death, and finally, but most importantly, _I_ was almost killed as well. No, no. No! Absolutely not!"

One day later.

Percival rode toward Avalon, tired but excited to see his friends once more. He approached the camp, following the small blue ball of light that was leading his way. He slowed down as the light faded, knowing he would have to move slower this last mile. He had no desire to scare the druids into attacking, especially Merlin. He dismounted and led his horse behind him, carefully picking his way through the woods.

He grinned as he saw the sliver of shining lake before him. Soon he could see sun and mist… but no tents. Where was the camp? Where was Merlin? Had the warlocks letters and the light deceived him? "Percival!" Merlin happy voice drew his attention away from the shore and towards a small fire that rested closer to the woods. Once he saw the group that awaited him he couldn't help his own bark of amusement. Merlin was standing, waving furiously. Beside him a small woman, her fiery red hair poorly camouflaged under a brown cloak, held a baby to her chest, eyeing him warily. And at their feet was Gwaine, arms and legs tied behind his back, Merlin's neckerchief stuffed in his mouth. He did not look…thrilled.

It would be good to have the servant home again.


	2. Chapter 2

I disclaim.

AN: ... I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. This is almost a year late and I'm awful. I have no excuses except that I was uninspired until I saw the 4th season. Which was amazing! (Although I'm completely disregarding it for this fic.) Warning- Merlin BAMF!

If the old man had thought it odd to rent a room to the odd party he didn't show it, and Merlin was glad that they were able to find housing so late and so far from the castle. The lower town was almost asleep, Camelot's poorer residents resting early in order to rise with the sun.

Most of them, including the old man whose upper room they now occupied, working in the castle or the fields, and days started hours before most in the castle would even be stirring. Merlin had been slightly concerned, recognizing the man as an old cook, but apparently the years had done their job and he only vaguely resembled the clumsy servant who dropped his master's tray. The man had peered at him curiously but then seemed to let his suspicions go, handing the warlock a rusty key in exchange for a week's rent. Merlin peered in on Iana and her wet nurse, Magda, but the two were sleeping peacefully in their sectioned off area, unbothered by Gwaine's noisy snores from the floor. Percival had gone off ahead, back to the castle to warn Arthur that they'd arrived and to expect Merlin in the morning.

Not that Merlin planned on waiting.

Living with the Druids had given him a healthy wariness and a harder outlook and he wouldn't be walking into the Castle just to be ambushed and burned by guards.

Not that they could burn him.

But they could certainly try. And it would certainly hurt.

Leaving a quick note for Gwaine, should the knight wake, the warlock slipped from the room and down the short hall, quietly spelling his feet to be silent. Downstairs the cook was snoring on a low bed near the fire and Merlin's heart broke for a moment as he remembered Gaius. But then the moment passed and he was out the door, not bothering with key and simply magicking the door open and closed. He didn't worry about being seen—this late, in this part of town, magic was ignored, so long as it wasn't destructive.

The poor had better things to do than bother with someone else's foolishness. As far as they were concerned he would burn or he wouldn't— they had plenty of their own worries, most of which wouldn't be helped by bringing castle guards into the town.

He stepped into an alley and threw on his cloak, a magic garment he'd whipped up for just such an occasion. It didn't quite make him invisible, but it made people's eyes go right over him, encouraging people to look away or remember they had something important to do right then. It was delicate, impressive magic, and it'd taken a year to perfect. Now he made the long walk up to the Castle, wrapped in darkness, unnoticed by any of the patrols or late night townspeople. He slipped through the gates to the upper town, noting the sleepy guards with a critical eye. This part of town reminded him of happier times, spent with Gwen or shopping with Gaius, nights at the pub with Gwaine or even, on occasion, Arthur. There were more patrols here, so Merlin kept off the main road and switched to his old route, which twisted through back alleys where the guards rarely ventured. Finally, he made it to the Castle entrance, where things were a little trickier. The guards were awake here and wouldn't hesitate to raise an alarm at a shadow. He walked down the stone walls a bit, until he found a good patch of wall that had never been fixed after one of Camelot's many battles.

And he climbed.

Arthur would laugh, thinking of his clumsy, weak servant scaling a wall, but Merlin had never been as weak as he appeared. It had been important, back then, being seen as unthreatening, but living hard and in the open had made him a bit more developed. He'd grown taller and a bit broader and although he was still thin as a rail, but years of building camps and frustrated knife throwing had added muscle to his frame. Once he at the top he took a deep breath and let himself fall. He hit the ground hard, rolling into the ground but still jolting and pulling muscles. Normally a little magic would have softened the ground but he didn't want to risk spellwork so soon.

Dusting himself off, he stood taking a quick look around before darting into the servant's entrance. He immediately had to dodge a laundry room attendant whose arms were full of bed linens, on their way to be pressed. It had always amused him, that the launry room worked afternoon to night, pressing and cleaning extra linens so that servants could pick up clean replacements before stripping their master's bed. He'd never seen so much fabric before coming here—Hunith and he had straw mattresses with burlap coverings.

The long walk up the winding stairs to the throne room was full of memories and second thoughts. It was foolish, coming back. But how could he not?

How could he deny Arthur anything after what happened?

_Four Years Ago…_

"Mer-lin!" Arthur frustrated voice drew Merlin's attention from the boot in his hands. The Prince had made a fantastic scuff on the toe and it seemed that no matter how many times the servant polished, the leather wouldn't repair. If the clotpole would just leave…

He realized that the Prince had probably been speaking to him. "Yes Arthur?"

"_Yes Arthur_?" The noble mocked good naturedly. "If you'd only be so polite when you were _actually_ listening!"

Merlin turned back to the boot. "Well if you actually had anything interesting to say…" He trailed off; grinning as he reflexively dodged a glove.

The Prince sniffed and turned back to the paper's he was looking over. "_As I was saying_, the Coram delegation will be here tomorrow so I need you to supervise the servants preparing their rooms. This treaty is especially important and I won't have some new man messing it up by forgetting a chamber pot."

The warlock sighed. "Why do I have to go?" He whined. "Can't Philip do it?" Philip was Uther's head manservant, a cranky, foul tempered man who hated untidiness almost as much as he hated Merlin. He'd love an opportunity to boss around younger servants and inspect rooms.

"No. My father needs Philip at the moment." The two fell silent; both aware that Uther's fractured nerves meant that he needed a familiar face at all times. "Just… do it for me, will you Merlin." The golden haired Prince rubbed his brow, sounding tired and Merlin nodded solemnly, joking nature sobering for a moment. Working again, the two sat in silence, both absently thinking about what would need to be done so the treaty meeting would move smoothly. Despite Arthur's constant claims that Merlin was useless, the dark haired boy knew that he was by far one of the most capable servants in the Camelot.

He did twice the work that most would, as well as helping Arthur with training and hunts and Gaius with potions. He was more than capable of setting right a few rooms. It wouldn't be that bad.

… It was that bad.

Three hours later, after clothing and delivering Arthur to training, Merlin stood in astonishment, surveying what was absolutely the largest mess imaginable. The bedding had been put on incorrectly; the chamber pot was on the table and the washbowl was the floor; and worst of all, somehow the drapes had been put on the canopy and the canopy fabric was thrown over the sills. "How did you even get it up there?" Merlin mused aloud, wondering to himself if perhaps any of the new help had magic.

It would take hours to switch the fabrics back and now the table would need to be scoured for his piece of mind. "Sir…" A boy, a few years younger than Merlin himself, quietly spoke up. Merlin didn't hear him, examining the summer blankets that they had mistakenly layered under the skewed quilt. "Sir!" The boy almost shouted and his fellow, an older man who'd been at the castle a little over a month elbowed him, giving the child a sharp look.

Now Merlin stood up, looking curiously over at the two. "Yes? You mean me?"

"Yes sir." Now the boy blushed furiously. "We were told to wait for the Prince's servant sir. I don't… I don't think you should be touching things." The anxiousness in the boys tone was clear and every few seconds his wide eyes would dart to the door, as though he expected Uther himself to walk in and scold him.

The old man rolled his eyes to heaven and muttered under his breath. "This _is_ the Prince's manservant you dunce."

If it was possible the boy's face went even redder, his eyes practically bugging out of his head as he realized what he'd done. "So sorry sir!" He blurted, "It's just… just you don't _seem_ like a servant sir."

Now it was Merlin's turn to blush, but he walked away to examine the towels the two had chosen to hide it. He talked over his shoulder. "Yes I know—according to Arthur I'm extremely awful at being a servant. Not enough groveling supposedly. And please don't call me sir… what was it? Colvin?"

"Yes s- yes." He seemed a bit more relaxed now that Merlin was across the room.

"Well Colvin, the Prince may think I'm the worst servant he's ever seen but that's only because he's never walked into this room." Merlin turned back to see both of the new men pale. "But don't worry—once we set it right again no will know the difference between these chambers and the Kings."

"Thank you sir." The older man, Tryel, gave his better a small smile.

The warlock smiled back, his grin wide and cheerful. "Don't thank me yet. Once we go through what's wrong here you'll still have to right all the other rooms."

_Present…_

Shaking his head to free it from old memories rarely worked, but Merlin did so anyway, frowning as he made his way down the hall to the King's chamber's. If Uther really was dead, and this wasn't an elaborate trap to trick him, then a member of the royal court would be in the room with Uther's body, sitting vigil with the corpse until the burial in two days' time. If there was no one, only guards and mad King, then Merlin would escape with Iana and Gwaine at dawn, no one the wiser.

The hallway was at half guard, which was promising, and Merlin only had to distract one man to slip into Uther's half open door. Inside he pulled up short, shocked and startled by Uther's cold, green white body, partially swaddled in white burial cloth. Arthur, older, but still the same friend he'd once loved and protected, had fallen asleep, his head resting on the bed next to Uther's prone figure. And on the other side, cloaked in her own darkness, stood Morgana.

She stared at him, her magical eyes seeing right through his illusions. He stared back.

And then he struck.


End file.
